Yeah, Whatever
by Quelle Surprise
Summary: During the summer between her sixth and seventh year, Hermione Granger takes on the job of a counseller to troubled teens. Along comes Draco, sauntering in like he owns the place. But why the hell is he there?
1. Prologue and Chapter 1

Yeah... Whatever  
  
Prologue  
  
For once in her life, Hermione Granger actually belonged. She wasn't pushed into a box labeled 'Know-it-all' and stored in a cupboard until a textbook was needed. She was accepted because of who she was, not shunned for it. But then again, you couldn't really shun your supposed superior. Yes, even on her holidays Hermione was working. That wasn't the point, though. She was helping people; people her age; people who respected her and needed her advice.  
  
She loved it.  
  
It wasn't rocket science (Which Hermione happened to find enthralling), but it was enjoyable. She would sit at the back of the class with the other helpers until the professor finished his lectures to the troubled teens (They were mainly composed of: 'Be a better person' and 'Help society'). Hermione found it all very preachy. So when he sent the students into her 'office' (A cleaned out old janitor's closet which she took the liberty of decorating) for a peer therapy session... she did her own thing.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
There was a knock at the closet door. Hermione continued rooting through her CD's.  
  
"Come in, Trysta," she instructed.  
  
"Not Trysta... But you can call me that if you like," drawled a distinctly male voice from somewhere behind her. She could feel the stranger's eyes examining her figure... It was very unnerving.  
  
Hermione abruptly stopped her search, but didn't turn around. She had no time for perverts. "Well if you aren't Miss Mallory, then kindly march your arse back out my door."  
  
"I'm new." The voice said simply.  
  
She cursed under her breath. Damn that alarm clock. "Take a seat then."  
  
Hermione heard the shuffling of feat and the scrape of the chair. When all was quiet she finally turned around, making her way to her own stool. She took out a piece of paper from her desk and grabbed the pen behind her ear.  
  
"Name?" There was a pause.  
  
"Trouble," the boy stated.  
  
"Name?" She repeated.  
  
"Wouldn't YOU like to know?"  
  
"Name?!" She reiterated sharply.  
  
"Draco..."  
  
A lump formed in her throat. She solemnly raised her eyes to examine him. Through her lashes she couldn't see him very clearly, but well enough.  
  
"Hello, Granger." 


	2. Chapter 2

Lots of thanks goes out to my one and only reviewer. And if you read to first chapter, read it again as I have made some changes.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
She looked at him with one brow raised. They stared steadfastly at each other for an unmeasured amount of time. Without warning Hermione leaped from her chair and crossed to the closet door in three long strides. She exited none too quietly or politely, leaving Draco to sit in the near darkness for a matter of minutes.  
  
The boy, starting to get impatient upon awaiting her return, stood and started to wander around the cramped space. He wearily examined posters of what he assumed were muggle music groups. Eve 6? Sum41? Billy Talent? Odd names for bands if you asked him. Turning away from the pictures, he made his way over to the basket Hermione had been.  
  
"And what, pray tell, are these?" Draco asked no one in particular.  
  
"CD's," stated a voice from behind him, causing Draco to jump, "A muggle device. You use them to listen to songs. Would you like to hear one?"  
  
"Granger," He started, turning to face her, "I have no time for stupid contraptions, and neither do you. I should be going. You have troubled souls and wounded psyches to save and salvage, do you not?"  
  
"On the contrary, Mr. Malfoy," She retorted, "Today, you are my only 'wounded psyche', as you so tactfully put it. I asked the professor if I could take you on as a special case for the day." It was her turn to don the infamous 'bastard smirk' (Named so by her, Harry and Ron) as Draco gaped at her like a deer in headlights.  
  
"Cut the crap and give me a break, Granger. I don't want to be here any more than you want me to. So, why don't you pronounce me 'saved' or 'ready for social contact' or what ever the fuck it is that you do here and let me take my leave."  
  
"Tsk-tsk, Draco, no need to cuss," Hermione admonished in the way a mother would to her spoiled son. "You're obviously here for a reason, and my job is to-"  
  
"The only reason I'm here, /i," he said, being sure to add extra spite to her name, "Is because my family is dead!" He barely gave her time to process what he had said before he began on again. "That's right- DEAD- Granger. As doornails. Dumbledore sent me here, as he is now my guardian. I'm supposed to learn respect for muggles and get some help with my attitude problem or some crock of shit. He may be a genius... But there is a fine line between genius and insanity."  
  
Hermione didn't know what to say. That was a first. Usually she couldn't shut up, even when she had nothing to say.  
  
"Well, regardless, I'm getting paid to help you. And I have no intention of letting Dumbledore down. So, either you pick a CD, or all the awkward moments which are sure to come will be silent."  
  
"Fine, then. What about Billy Talent?"  
  
"Thoroughly depressing," she stated. "I bet you'd enjoy it." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
"I'll listen to it. Doesn't mean I'll take pleasure in it, Granger. I'd love to see you're idea of depressing!" He said sarcasm evident. "They're probably a bunch of stupid 30 year old, though trying to be 21, muggles prancing around leather pants and tight shirts singing, and I play it fast and loose with that term, 'Ode to my shag of the week who left me for some hot number because I wasn't good enough in the sack.'"  
  
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his analogy. "For your information, I would rather be eaten alive by starving hippogriffs than listen to that kind of music, and I play it fast and loose with that term," she explained, one hand on her hip, the other outstretched, mocking him ever so slightly.  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at her in a very Malfoy like fashion, slightly surprised at her choice of words. He reached in the basket and picked out the CD, hesitating a moment before he handed it to her.  
  
"Good boy. Now sit and let me get set up for our session."  
  
"Alright, Granger," he resigned, heading to the chair and sitting in a regal fashion. "But let it be known that I do not like to be ordered about like a common house elf. And if I here even one 'Oh, baby' or 'Yeah, girl' I might have to go medieval on your arse."  
  
Hermione laughed lightly and started toward the boom box, taking the disk out of its case as she went.  
  
Draco watched intently, or as well as he could with her in the way, as she pressed buttons and adjusted knobs on something that looked vaguely like a Wizard Wireless. Soon the first chords of a song were ringing through the room. It didn't sound like prance-y boy-band music to him, it actually sounded half decent.  
  
"Hmm... punk-rock, Granger? I never would have thought," He admitted, nodding his head with the music, causing his blonde hair to flop helplessly, which Hermione didn't fail to notice.  
  
"Well, well, Malfoy. I see we decided to ditch the stuck-up prat look for something a little more casual?" She asked not even bothering to try to ignore the fact that, yes- he was quite attractive without a look of disgust on his face. He may be an arse, but he was a good-looking arse and there was no use denying it.  
  
"Ha-ha-ha! Just to let you know, I've 'ditched the stuck-up prat look' because I am now broke. I have no extra money to spend on frivolous, unnecessary products. Besides, I think it makes me look quite," he paused to flip his hair and send her a wink, "roguish."  
  
She shook her head and made her way over to the stool she had sat on earlier. "So, why don't we get started? First off, your parent's deaths... How does that make you feel?"  
  
"You know, Granger, for a muggle-born, you aren't that bad looking... If only you would do something with that rat's nest you call hair." Truthfully, her hair had calmed down a bit, but as she said: 'Once a frizz- ball, always a frizz-ball'  
  
"Damn, Malfoy. Don't avoid the subject," she berated through her blushing cheeks. "Now, the deaths, Malfoy, tell me about the deaths."  
  
"But really Granger, sixth year was good to you," he said not cloaking the innuendo that was left hanging in the air.  
  
"Alright so I can see you're uncomfortable talking about you parents, what about your friends? Tell me about them."  
  
"C'mon, Granger, do you seriously think that I or any of these people are actually going to tell you anything true!? Don't be blind! These kids see you as the enemy. And if you think otherwise... give me a fucking break." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
"Th-they, they... They TRUST me! I know them... they trust me!" Hermione raved, the truth hurt.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Righto, Hermione, I'm out. Join me for a coffee? I don't know where to get one in mugglesville."  
  
"I'd rather not," she said shortly.  
  
"You'd WHAT?" Draco half-shouted at her. Here he was, asking a mudblood to be in his presence and she REFUSED him?  
  
"Wow. You're an even bigger tosser than I thought!"  
  
He just cast her a more-than-slightly evil glance and stormed out the door.  
  
"What a brat..." She muttered as the hinges creaked closed.  
  
The next morning, as Hermione was getting ready for a strenuous day's work (or sleeping past her alarm, either one really), she was rudely interrupted by her mother.  
  
"Hermy, sweetie-lumpkin, someone's head is in the fireplace for you!"  
  
'Oh, lord,' Hermione thought, 'Please let it not be anyone important.'  
  
"Be down in a jiff, Mum," she called whilst slipping on some pants. She ran to the top of the staircase... and tumbled down.  
  
"Quite graceful, Miss Granger," the head of her headmaster chuckled.  
  
Hermione looked up at the fireplace and grinned sheepishly, "Rather."  
  
Her mother stood in the living room, looking back and forth between the old man and her daughter. "Would anyone care for tea!?!?" Mrs. Granger asked, quite excited.  
  
"No, thank-you, Mum. Disembodied heads are prone to not drinking tea," Hermione said sarcastically. The professor nodded in agreement.  
  
"Well, Hermione, let's get on to business, shall we?" Dumbledore's face abruptly turned from good-natured to solemn. "I've come to talk about Draco."  
  
"You know, Professor, I'd rather not discus him right now. It's my day off."  
  
"It's quite important."  
  
"Proceed, then," Hermione said determinedly, not wanting to disrespect her elder.  
  
"I need you to love him."  
  
"What!?" She spluttered.  
  
"Oh, apologies, that came out wrong. I'm sorry! I went over what I was going to say, as this is a delicate matter and you are- no offense- anything but delicate... All right let me try one more time." Dumbledore cleared his throat in a very Umbridge-like fashion and proceeded, "Just please try and treat him like a friend. Like he was a person you had never met before, it will help with the process of 'rehabilitating' him so to speak..."  
  
"I-I'm not sure I can..." She trailed off, suddenly quite distraught  
  
"Please, Miss Granger. Please will you try? Think of it as a favor to me," the professor said, sincerely hoping he was wearing her down.  
  
Hermione couldn't just go and resist the old bat, but she wasn't going down without a fight. "But... he's been such a right as- Prat to me for all my time in the wizarding world."  
  
"And this is your chance to be the bigger person. Take it. Set this right," he whispered, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"I'll try. But now I have to go... I see an owl flying toward my window and it looks a bit angry. Good day," She said shortly, wanting him to leave before she bit his head off for being, well, Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore nodded his head and it disappeared from the fireplace.  
  
"Agh, What a morning," she said to herself as she trudged up the evil staircase.  
  
When she got to her room she immediately flopped onto her bed, just wanting to relax and forget it all.  
  
BANG!  
  
"Right. Owl." Hermione said to no one in particular. She lay there a while willing the window to open by itself. It didn't, sadly, so she got up and unlocked it herself.  
  
A gorgeous (and rather harassed looking) barn owl flew in to the room, dropped the letter in her hands and promptly left.  
  
Hermione examined the envelope closely, it was unmarked and impeccable. She was hesitant to open it but too curious not to. Tearing the top open, it read:  
  
"Dear Hermione... 


End file.
